


Flush

by NorthernStar



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Humour, Living Together, Minor Jim Owwies, Sentinel Angst List, Zoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/NorthernStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or "Jim has Adventures in Zoning"</p>
<p>Why did Blair's one week in Jim's home turn into 3 years...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flush

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been convinced that Blair likes living in that cupboard, no grown man would see that as a viable place to live, especially not when he previously rented a humungous warehouse. OK so the slasher in me thinks it's a cover – see Blair sleep there, you'll never suspect us! – but in my gen moments… well I was asked to explain why Blair would put up with his dinky res and came up with this. When the askee finally stopped giggling, she told me I had to write that down. So I did. But it got a bit more melancholy than I planned, but what the hell.
> 
> This is another Sentinel Angst list escapee.

"Fuck!"

Jim jolted awake at the sudden noise that had thundered  through his head like a gunshot, his heart hammering against his ribs. He sat up in bed, the adrenaline rush fading  away as his hearing automatically zeroed in on the cause.

Blair.

A soft thud-thud-thud continued below, underscored by  whispered swearing.

Smiling to himself, Jim lay back down. He had just enough time for a lie in before  getting up for work.

 

 

Blair hopped around his tiny, tiny, so fucking _tiny_   room holding his pained foot and swearing.  He hoped vaguely that the tribal mask he'd trod on getting out of bed  wasn't broken. He owed the University  enough money as it was.

The pain gradually faded and he sat back down on his  bed. His eyes fell on the mess piled up  in the... room? Could you really call  this cupboard-with-delusions-of-grandeur a room?

God he really needed to get his own place. With lots of space.

Lots and lots of lovely wide space.

But short of borrowing his cousins tent and camping on  campus, that wasn't about to happen. His  funds, such as they were after years of study, had been severely depleted  replacing the books and the electrical equipment, not to mention most of his  clothes, lost in warehouse explosion. He  hadn't even had insurance.

He was screwed.

No, he was _royally_ screwed. Jim expected him out by Thursday, and while  he might just let Sandburg stay a few more days if he looked desperate enough,  Blair really wasn't in the mood to ask. Larry had trashed any good will there  and besides…if he never had to sleep on this futon again, it would be too soon.

He wasn't looking forward to stowing everything in his  office and kipping on someone else's floor, but he'd done it before and he  could deal. Just. It certainly wouldn't be any worse than the  four months he'd spent with Professor Stoddard in the desert, sharing a Bedouin  tent with five other students, two native guides, Eli, three camels and a goat.

Sighing, Blair got up and padded into the kitchen. He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble  scrape against his fingers. Despite the  growing itch and the lure of a shave, he carefully let Jim have the bathroom  first. Good guests made for good hosts.

Besides, he was in need of a perk, a kick to the veins,  something to get the blood going.

Blair went straight past the coffee machine and pulled a jar  of green powder out of the cupboard.

Blair smiled. A fresh  pot of algae…. The day seemed better  already.

 

 

Jim grunted something that might possibly have been 'good  morning' as he came down the stairs and disappeared into the bathroom. Blair happily set about chopping and mixing,  the whirr of the blender drowning out the sounds of Jim's shower. He was pouring out the shake into a glass  when the shower stopped, which meant Jim had been quick and left him enough hot  water to tend to his hair without the final rinse being stone cold. Jim had apologised the last time that had  happened, and he'd tried to be casual about it – ' _Best kept beauty secret,  man. Cold rinse. Shiny hair.'_ – but  Jim had given him the weirdest look and avoided him for the rest of the day.

Oh yeah…gotta get out.

Blair sat down at the table, sipping his shake. He heard the toilet flush and knew he  wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Then there was a thud and a tumble…and then…silence.

"Jim?" He went to the  door, listening through the wood. Nothing. No answer at  all. "Jim, you OK, man?"

His heart froze when he heard a burbling, choking noise.

"JIM!" He rattled the  door, but the small lock held firm. He  tried again with no success then finally he rammed against the door with his  shoulder, splintering the wood.

Jim's backside mooned him the moment he opened the  door. The rest of the cop was barely visible,  his head and shoulders swallowed by the toilet.  Blair stared transfixed for a half-second; suddenly back in his own adolescent,  gaining first hand knowledge of his school's plumbing systems courtesy of the  class bully.

"JIM!" He drove  forward and hauled his friend out of the bowl, cursing him under his breath for  being tall and huge and obsessed with junk food.

Jim's body finally slumped down onto the bathroom floor, his  hair dripping, his nose bleeding and smelling not so faintly of bleach. Blair quickly checked his airways and rolled  him into the recovery position. He  grabbed a towel and covered his damp friend.  "Hang in there, man. I'm just gonna call an ambulance, OK?"

There was a faint cough and a hand grabbed his wrist.

"No." The word was  half-choked but Blair caught it away.

"Jim?" He hadn't  realised his friend was awake.

"No ambulance." He  croaked out and began coughing.

"You're bleeding. And  you were out." Panic tightened his chest,  shock catching up with him now it was over.  "Man I thought you were like… _drowning_." A chuckle overtook him, edged with nerves. "In the toilet."

Jim pushed himself up to sit and tugged the towel Blair had  laid over him up to wipe his dripping face.  He seemed surprised when the towel came away red.

"I really think you need to get checked out, Jim. I can drive you to the ER."

Jim carefully prodded his own nose. "It's not broken." He decided, hissing with discomfort as he  continued to feel along the cartilage.

"You were unconscious."

"I'm OK."

"You could have concussion."

Jim sighed and Blair saw he'd won the argument. "I'll need a dry shirt." He said, resigned, and went to get up.

Satisfied, Blair held up his hands, waving Jim down. "Stay put, all right? I'll get one."

Blair was back in less than half a minute, but found Jim had  completely ignored his advice and got up.  He was standing in front of the mirror inspecting the damage.

He placed the shirt on the towel rail and looked at  Jim. "What the hell happened?"

Jim continued to poke at his nose, not looking at his friend. "I zoned."

"You zoned! In the bathroom? Oh  man…" Blair chuckled dirtily. "What were you doing in the there?"

Jim glanced at him, but the deadly glare had little affect.

"I flushed the toilet and…"  He sighed, and Blair was delighted to realise his friend was actually… _embarrassed_. "…the sunlight from the window, sparkling on  the water spinning round…" He trailed  off. "I was just gone, Chief."

Blair crossed to the clouded glass window and glanced  between it and the toilet bowl, frowning over the possibilities. "Do you realise what this means?"

Jim pulled off a wad of toilet paper, wet it under the tap  and began attending to his nose. "Catheters?" He spat.

"No…Look the first time you zoned, it was a Frisbee, and since  then you've zoned on wheels and gun barrels…maybe there's some correlation  between spherical objects and the zone out.  You know, spinning disks have been used in hypnotism for hundreds of-"

He turned. "Everything's  gotta be about research for you." His words were sharp.

There was a slight pause.  The anger surprised him. "Jim…if  I can narrow it down, find the cause, if there's one, you know, maybe we can do  some exercises. Get you past it."

"And you get another chapter in your thesis."

"Probably." Blair frowned. "You want out?"

Jim sighed, grabbed his dry shirt and headed out of the  bathroom. That line of questioning  seemed to be over. He was learning that  about Jim, if you couldn't see a win or a solution, then you don't discuss  it. As if conserving oxygen was a  constant concern.

Blair trotted after him.  "Jim-" He began.

"Look…" Jim cut him  off as he shrugged into his shirt. "I'm  sorry. I hear what you're saying,  Chief." He sighed. "If you hadn'ta  been here…" He sank down on the  sofa.

"I was here." Blair  said, hating the darkness on Jim's face.  He sat on the coffee table in front of his friend. "We'll find a way to stop this." Blair told him. "I promise."

"My senses aren't gonna go away,  Sandburg. This is the real deal here,  right? Forever?"

Blair didn't have nearly enough research to give a complete  answer, but everything he did know pointed to that. "Pretty much."

"And next time I zone…it could be the oven…the  microwave… I go out on the balcony…"

"Jim, there's an answer, all right. Remember how it was a few weeks ago? You've come so far, man."

"This is a giant leap backwards, Chief. Before I worried about zoning out on the  street, but now I've got you backing me up.  This is different." The frown  deepened, probably the closest he'd ever come to expressing hurt. "You can't do that 24/7."

Blair thought a moment then let out a breath. "Look, I…I don't have a place lined up yet….  I could stay, like another coupla weeks, we work on  some things…"

Jim looked up, right at Blair, as if everything had suddenly  become simple. "Maybe you could stay,  period." He said. There was no hesitation in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blair could see the little box  he'd been sleeping in these last few nights, with its chipboard walls he'd  cursed, its futon he hated – sleeping might be anathema to most students, but  hey, it was nice to get a little – its poor lighting, drafts and stupid ugly  curtain-door, but he kept his gaze on Jim who sat in front of him, damp,  bloodied and waiting.

Hopefully.

Eli had once warned him that research was responsibility and  that it would catch up with him one day.  He'd never understood that until now.

Damn.

Jim shrugged, like it was nothing. "I could use the extra rent."

Blair flexed his fingers, mulling it over. He looked down at them, pulling his eyes from  the thinly veiled plea in Jim's eyes.  Unlike the warehouse, unlike a _lot_ of the places he'd lived, he  wasn't wearing fingerless gloves. Nor  five layers of clothing.

"It's not much of a room so…350 a month."

At least he'd be warm.

Blair straightened up and gulped air. "Jim…I can't live with these walls, man." But the smile on his face and the lilt in the  words gave away the real answer.

Jim matched his grin.  "We'll paint them."

"And the décor…screams neo-military/cop/macho-"

"Maybe a few of your Fertility God…knows-what's around,  tribal carvings…"

"More than a few, like the whole lot."

"A handful."

Blair grinned. "Half."

"A quarter."

"Third."

"A third and you pay 400 a month, Junior."

Blair laughed and found that it was genuine. "OK, OK, a quarter."

Jim held out his hand.  "Deal?"

Blair took it for a firm shake. "Deal…roomie."

And somewhere, vaguely, in the very, very back of his mind,  Jim wondered what the hell he was doing.

 

-End (or should that  be beginning?) -


End file.
